I adore growing things from seed, particularly with my new hot house! There’s something about that small, hopeful act of pressing a seed into soil and thinking… this could become something. Watching those first shoots appear, then stretch a little taller each day, feels quietly magical. And yes, I absolutely get attached.
I even enjoy the next step. Transferring those tiny starters into the main garden. The promotion. The “off you go, you’ve got this” moment. And that my friends, is where things tend to unravel.
Because once they’re planted out, my attention drifts. Not because I don’t care. Not because I’m slack. Just… ADHD. A few months until harvest might as well be another lifetime. My brain has already moved on. If you are unaware of my ADHD.. yes. Diagnosed at 52 (and that’s a few years back I may add, that inspired me to write The Missing Piece), I’ve been listening to my brain and figuring a few things out!
Back to the seedlings. So what happens next? Survival of the fittest. The strongest plants carry on, and the rest disappear under what I lovingly refer to as the jungle. An enthusiastic takeover of weeds that seem to sense the exact moment my focus shifts elsewhere.
It’s been a familiar cycle for years. Start with energy. Lose momentum. Feel a twinge of guilt. Begin again.
What ADHD has taught me about gardening
This season, something shifted. And it wasn’t about trying harder or caring more. It came down to something simple. Visibility.
If something isn’t in front of me, it slips out of mind. Not intentionally. It just… fades. So when my plants moved further away, they also moved out of my awareness. The issue wasn’t the gardening itself. It was where the garden lived. Once I brought things closer, everything changed.
Pots instead of distant garden beds.
Plants within sight of where I sit each morning.
Seedlings I can spot before they start drooping.
Weeds I can deal with before they take over.
Being able to move containers around helps too. Following the sun. Tucking things under cover when the weather turns. Keeping everything visible means keeping everything cared for.
And that’s really the point. Working with how your brain naturally operates. Notice where things fall apart. Be honest about your tendencies.
Build systems that support you, instead of relying on willpower alone. Once you start thinking like this, solutions begin to show up everywhere.
Take the garden hose. I have a long history of turning it on… and completely forgetting about it. From a distance, it’s hard to tell if the tap is running. And if I can’t see it, my brain assumes it’s probably fine. So I added a visual cue. When I turn the tap on, I place an enamel mug over the handle. When I turn it off, the mug comes off.
Now, instead of second-guessing myself or making repeated trips outside, I just glance over from where I’m sitting. Mug on means water’s running. Mug off means all good. No memory required. Just a simple visual check. And suddenly, it’s not about failing at gardening. It’s about understanding how I function and adjusting accordingly.
Interest leads the way. Visibility keeps things on track. A bit of creative problem-solving fills in the gaps.
And the best part? No guilt. Just healthier plants, a calmer mind, and a way of doing things that actually makes sense.
